


windfall

by orphan_account



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal High School, F/F, Pre-Relationship, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:49:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Zatanna showers the cabaret with light.





	windfall

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to [@zaatanna](https://tmblr.co/m6ZXYcWHCSmKWsfbvJ8nHfQ) & [@armtemiscrock](https://tmblr.co/mjum3RW1OMgtSC2sFwvLe_Q) for [the idea + inspiration](http://zaatanna.tumblr.com/post/182901836445/headcannon-artemis-has-never-missed-one-of)! **__**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zatanna showers the cabaret with light.

It’s her first time performing. Giovanni is away tonight, and with no one there to see her through the night in the crowd, the room feels too full of shadows and unfamiliar faces. Her nerves have her stomach in knots. Before leaving, her father kissed her on the forehead and told her she would be magnificent. She did not believe him, with anxiety rising in her like smoke, and she still does not as she fumbles and undoes a spell, causing her tower of scarves and silverware to clatter to the ground. She does her best to ignore the burning of strangers’ eyes on her and tries another trick: she pulls a prop gun from her sleeve and pulls the trigger, and a rabbit, white as snow, squeezes free of the cartoonish barrel. The audience laughs and claps. She smiles, curtsies, hoping no one can see her hands trembling, and, tipping her head back, exhales sharply and rose petals gust from her, not unlike flame from a dragon’s mouth. More applause, a few cheers. Her smile broadens.

Zatanna waves her wand with a flourish. _Her_ wand, not her father’s. This year’s birthday gift. The rose petals take the shape of a man’s silhouette. The rose-man bows deeply, drawing applause and pleased gasps from the audience. She turns, ready to transition into the next part of her act, when the toe of her shoe catches on a loose floorboard; she stumbles, her ankle tangled in the scarves on the floor. Zatanna falls. She _falls_. Lands awkwardly on her left knee, feels the uneven wood scrape her through her tights. It’s the loudest sound in the world she could have possibly made.

Her show. _Ruined_.

Her eyes sting. Her breaths are quickly dissolving into a mess of syncopation. Murmurs begin to reach her ears. Her chest is beginning to feel a bit tight—

“Zatanna,” someone hisses from nearby. “ _Zatanna_.”

Zatanna, after skittishly scanning the crowd, finally locates the speaker.

Front far-left table tucked away in the corner. Worst view of the stage. A girl, draped in shadows. But Zatanna can make out the blonde hair, the shape of the girl’s face, even from under the lights. The girl smiles. She _smiles_. Surprisingly, unmistakably, the warmth of her smile and fierceness of her gaze reaches Zatanna. The girl flashes her a thumbs up. Mouths, _you got this_ , and Zatanna has never been more thankful in her _life_ —

_Artemis?_

Is that Artemis _Crock_? From homeroom? Dick’s friend? The transfer student Wally hasn’t been able to shut up about since she arrived in November?

Zatanna catches herself before her jaw drops. She knows she only told Dick where she was going to be tonight, so how did—

 _Dick told Wally_ , is all Zatanna can think, incredulous, _so Wally told Artemis. He told her to go to my show._

 _Go_ , Artemis mouths, her smile encouraging, _winning_. And Zatanna, still shaky, still on _fire_ , gets to her feet. Ignores the sting of the scrape on her knee and the bruise to her ego and puts on a smile. Raises her hands. Conjures up the rose-man again. The audience claps, polite at first, but then more earnestly when the silhouette offers his hand to her. She turns away, acting proud, and the rose-man turns to the audience, throwing up his hands.

The show goes on. A thick, faux-fur winter coat is pulled from her jacket sleeve and thrown toward the audience, only to burst into dove feathers before it hits the ground; the white rabbit stages its return, wriggling free out of her top hat to perch on her shoulder; the scarves on the ground are balled up and strung out again, this time as fairy lights, then the rabbit takes the end of the lit strand and jumps back into the hat, and goes and goes and goes, until the rope of lights is gone and there’s only Zatanna on stage, bowing as the curtain falls. The applause and cheers fill her up, make her dizzy as she manages to exit stage left without tripping over herself. The manager says something to her, but she doesn’t hear him. She’s high off the success. Embarrassment still makes her skin crawl, but not nearly as much as it would have been had she simply ran off stage.

She did it. She _did_ it. After years of preparation and gathering the courage.

 _I did it_. Zatanna is so full of light she could sing.

Zatanna goes down the hall, turns a corner, bursts into her dressing room, the one with the gold star on the door—

—to find Artemis there. _Waiting_ for her. Feet up on the makeup table, leaning back in the chair. A bouquet of flowers— chrysanthemums; orchids; roses—in her lap. Their gazes lock, and Artemis tips forward, allowing the momentum of the downward motion to fluidly stand her up.

 _Artemis._ Grin in place. Eyes glittering. Practically glowing.

It occurs to Zatanna that her face hurts; she’ll realize sometime later it’s because she’s smiling so big.

Artemis holds out the bouquet. Zatanna takes it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
